


Dreaming

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [12]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Henry Cavill - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Romantic!Sherlock, floofy fluff, fluffiest fluff, really toothrotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: A tiiny little drabblePairing: soft!Sherlock x 2nd pov readerWarnings: fluff, pure fluff.Not beta'd and written in Tumblr so no word count.Enjoy 💕 and please like and comment if you liked it, writers live off validation 💖
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/ Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You, sherlock holmes/ you
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Kudos: 18





	1. part 1

You couldn't say how exactly you ended up here. One day you knock on the door of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, for a stolen purse of all reasons (not a spectacular case, but he took it anyway), and the next thing you know... you're with him on his family's estate.

He took you for a stroll through the gardens after tea, showing you his favorite places growing up. It surprised you, if you were completely honest, how much he seemed to enjoy nature. You've only known him as a man of the city. Here, he was an entirely different man; almost. He was still _yours_. _Your_ Sherlock. The man who captured your heart almost right away. And how it seemed, you did the same to him.

"Here," the smooth baritone of his voice calles you back from your thoughts, "I used to come here a lot."

He lets go of your hand and steps closer to the old tree. Closer, until he sits down in the shade beneath it, on the soft grass.

"Come here, love," he tells you, holding out his hand, which you take. He helps you sit down, slings his arm around your waist and pulls you close against him. You let out a sigh at his warmth, and rest your head against his shoulder, your hand on his stomach.

"How do you like it?" he asks after a comfortable moment of silence.

"It is beautiful," you chirp, "you must have had a wonderful childhood here."

"Hm," he hums. Then, "would you like me to read, love? I brought our book."

You nod and smile. You read together every night before bed. It's your favorite part of the day. "Yes, please."

"Where were we?" Sherlock mutters to himself, flipping through the pages, the paper rustling. It mingles beautifully with the birds' song and the melody of the wind in the crown of the old tree. "Ah yes, here."

He begins reading, but you hardly can focus on the story, your mind occupied with thoughs of your lover coming here as a child, reading in the exact same spot you're sitting now. He must have had a happy childhood here. A part of you wishes you could raise your own children here, with him.

Soon, you don't hear words anymore, just his deep baritone and the song of nature, lulling you to sleep. How could you not? He's warm, his big body comfortable as you lean against him, making you feel loved and safe.

Once Sherlock realizes you're asleep - late, considering he's the famous detective - he puts the book away, smiling down at you. Emotions were strangers to him before you came along, but now... He can't imagine a life without you in it. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, needing to touch you, but afraid he'd wake you.

So he listens to your even breath and the quiet sighs leaving your lips once in a while. From time to time, he looks down at you, seeing your lashes flutter. You're dreaming.

And he is too. Of a life with you. Then and there he makes up his mind. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He will. Back in London, he's going to buy you a ring, work a few cases so you won't get suspicious - you've got a sharp mind after all - and then take you back here to propose, right here beneath this tree.


	2. part 2

He took you back two months later. Working case after case, each more urgent than the last; so it seemed. That in reality he was throwing himself into work because he couldn't work up the courage to ask you that one question, remained a secret to you. God forbid Sherlock Holmes being scared of anything, let alone asking his beloved to marry him.

Summer was coming to an end now. He took you back to his childhood home for what he claimed a break from the buzz in London. A holiday if you will. To enjoy the grand finale of summer out in the greenery before winter dug its talons deep into the heart of the city, forcing you to remain inside, in the cozy warm glow of the hearth, safe from the danger in the streets.

He had become protective of you, overly so. Wherever you went, he had to come there with you. Though he'd rather you stay inside altogether. He knows the horrors hiding in the shadows. He makes a living hunting them, unraveling their secrets. And he's doing his best to keep you safe, never to come into contact with those monsters in human form, apart from his discussions with you, of theoretical nature of course.

He took you for a stroll, like he had your first time visiting his family's estate. After tea, just like before. Your arm hooked under his, his hand covering the back of yours.

Just like before, he visited every one of his favorite spots, telling you little anecdotes about each of them, a gentle smile on his lips at the memories. And you smiled along with him, fondly, pleased to see him in a brighter mood again.

The time back in London left him dim. The cases he worked were stressful. Murder, abduction, and everything in between. There had been days that he didn't come out of his study at all. You had brought him food on those days, making sure he would at least eat something. You could be happy if he so much as glanced at you on those days.

And then there were days when he burst into the parlor, making you jump and nearly drop your book out of shock, telling you about his breakthrough in the case. He'd discuss the connections with you until deep into the night.

You get closer to the old tree, Sherlock's favorite spot in the garden. Smiling fondly, you remember the last time you had been here, the longing you felt.

Sherlock decides this is the moment to speak up.

"My dearest."

You glance at him, not noticing how he has slowed his pace.

"Before I met you, I thought I would only ever care for my work. Then you knocked at my door. I am a different man since, love."

"Sherl-?" you start, but he interrupts you almost immediately.

"Let me talk, please," he chuckles, smiling at you softly. But you also spot something flashing over his face. The way he so intently watches yours. He's nervous.

"I find myself thinking about you more often than not. You are a distraction, my love, but one I don't want to live without. One I cannot live without. Seeing you brightens my day. Hearing your voice, your laugh, makes me forget about everything else in the world. I cannot live without you anymore. I dare not even imagine a world without you in it."

You reach the tree. Sherlock steps in front of you, taking both your hands in his. He studies your face, but finds mostly confusion. For your sharp mind, you had not expected this.

"I have never expected to commit to anything besides my work. You changed that. You changed me, my love."

Your breathing stops when he gets down on one knee, looking up at you like you are his world.

"Will you do me the honour of being my wife, darling?"

You can only answer with a chocked sob as you sink on your knees and wrap your arms around him. Nodding into his neck, you can finally press out a _Yes_.

Soon, he pulls back, cups your face in his hands and presses a sweet kiss to your lips - the first of many. Pulling you to sit next to him under the tree, he hugs you to his side. It is not until later that afternoon that he pulls a small jewellery box from his coat pocket.

You watch with baited breath as he opens it and takes your hand in his, slipping the the most beautiful ring you've ever seen on your finger.

While you let out a soft gasp, he takes in your face, every little detail. Would you like it?

"Love, I -... It is stunning," you breathe out and he visibly relaxes. You lean up to kiss him once more. And then you both lean back against the tree and each other. From somewhere in his coat, Sherlock retrieves your book and starts reading to you. Only when the day draws to an end, he puts it down, helps you get up and leads you back into the house, to watch the sunset from the balcony.

Tomorrow you would begin planning the wedding. Tonight, you'd enjoy the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Maybe what you have dreamed of would come true now. Raising your children here, in Sherlock's childhood home - if his brother allowed it.

**_THE END_ **


End file.
